My "Lid" is Constantly Slipping Just a Little

This week has progressively gotten more difficult for me. The MSP is looming ever nearer and I don't feel like some of my kids are ready for Math. Especially Writing.

So, I've been beating myself up. Telling myself that I'm just not a good enough teacher. Telling myself that I'm letting kids fall through the cracks. Telling myself that it's too late to help them.

And as this tempest is raging inside me and I'm trying to appear calm on the surface, I realize its much more than the MSP.

I'm typically quite calm and patient. But my facade started cracking today.

And I realized why whilst sitting in my dark classroom attempting to pull myself together during lunch.

One year ago this week was the last week of my mom's life. One year ago today I took the day off to spend it sitting next to my mom's hospital bed wishing she could just wake up and talk to me, even for a second. One year ago tomorrow my mom was moved from the hospital to an assisted living home, because it was necessary for insurance purpose (Or unless she is actively dying, the Head Nurse told me indifferently). One year ago Saturday my mom quietly passed away in the early morning hours, all alone because I was at home sleeping.

And all of this, apparently, is affecting my ability to teach. Which is unfortunate because teaching is the one thing that has kept me sane. It is the one thing that makes me happy. It is the one thing I can do that makes the little knot of screams go still.

So, I sat my students down for a SCM (Spontaneous Class Meeting) and tried my hardest to explain all of this in a way that a fourth grader can understand.

I couldn't actually bring myself to say it so one of my students, whose sister was in my class last year, said it for me.

Then I apologized, my face reddening from the effort of holding it all in, and told them it wasn't their fault Ms. M seems a little stressed lately. "My lid is constantly slipping just a little, and it isn't because of you."

After more than one student empathized and shared about a loved one they have lost, I had to dismiss them back to their desks, as I couldn't keep it together any longer.

They very slowly stood up, as if afraid to startle me.

Six of my girls, tears in their eyes, converged on me with perfect synchronicity. And as my back was to a wall and I was sitting on the ground, they surrounded me in a perfect bubble. An umbrella, if you will. And like magic or alchemy my sadness and sorrow was lifted. Just for a second. But as they lifted away and moved to their desks the feeling fluttered away with them.

But, for a moment I remembered peace.

As I stood up trying to shake off the aftershocks of the moment I heard a quiet voice say, "None of the other boys cried except Guled." The student who said it stepped to the side and behind him stood my sweet Guled, giant eyes red and watery. Without a word he hugged me and we stood there quietly, the class in motion all around us. He told me that his dad died, too. He told me he was sorry. And quietly, ever so inaudibly, I whispered that I loved him.